


A Beginner's Guide to Fairytale Romance

by Markasite (ThePioden)



Series: Laugh at Live Dragons [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Knotting, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, dragon kink, fandom-typical magical bullshit, transformation/shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePioden/pseuds/Markasite
Summary: Hawke's been turned into a dragon. Anders doesn't really mind.





	

Anders woke him up. This was not an atypical occurrence, really, part and parcel of sleeping with a Warden, but Anders did not usually do it by bodily ejecting himself from the bed blaspheming a blue streak. 

"Andraste's tits aflame, Hawke, is that you?"

The words "of course it is, love, who else would I be" were all lined up and ready, but what came out of his mouth was more of a 'bwaaurgh' sort of sound. Hawke realized his tongue felt all wrong, and his teeth, and his _face_ , and when he tried to roll over and sit up, he seemed to have a few too many limbs. He flailed and fell off the other side of the bed with a thud. 

Anders peered over the rumpled coverlet at him, hand rimed in ice where he held a cone of frost ready. "Hawke? Love?"

Hawke, from his position on the floor, honked mournfully. 

***

Anders had gotten everyone assembled in the estate's foyer by dint of sending Bodahn to ask Fenris to ask Varric to get everyone. He should, he thought, be used to aforesaid everyone looking at him like he was a lunatic by now. 

"You're telling us," said Aveline slowly, " that Hawke has turned into a _dragon_."

"Yes," said Anders.

“A miniature dragon.”

“Yes,” said Anders, miserably.

Dragon-Hawke was approximately pony-sized, long and slim, blood red scales running along his back and bone-yellow plates on his belly, an impressive bristle of horns topping his skull and spiky scales framing his jaw. He’d finally figured out his wings after this morning, and held them tight to his sides, the pinkish membrane hanging just a little slack. He looked a little majestic and a lot like an awkward, adolescent puppy.

Aveline turned her gaze to the dragon on the floor. One ginger eyebrow raised with the gravitas of an upthrusting himalaya. Hawke’s sinuous, scaly tail swept the ground nervously under her stare. 

“Well,” she said eventually, “I don’t really know what I was else I was expecting. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

The tense silence broke all at once. Merrill actually _cooed_ at Hawke, darting forward to smoosh his scaly cheeks between her palms. Isabela knelt to join her, hands everywhere as Hawke started to purr. Aveline rolled her eyes. Fenris turned on his heel and walked away. 

Anders looked up, made eye contact with Varric. The dwarf was grinning. 

***

Bodahn, having followed the Hero of Ferelden around during the Blight, was more-or-less unfazed by his employer suddenly breaking out in a bad case of scales. Orana, who had presumably seen weirder things in the household of a Tevinter magister, was likewise stoical about Hawke’s new dragony self, the only outward expression of her even noticing the change being the plate stacked with slabs of raw steak at Hawke’s place at the dinner table. 

Hawke’s mail, on the other hand, was more of a problem. 

Anders reclined in the library on a loveseat, Hawke’s head on his leg. “DeLauncets, those smugglers you don’t officially know about, more mail from that hack apothecary, the seneschal, the _Knight Commander_ …” Anders raised his eyebrows, setting the stack of demands for Hawke’s time down in his lap. “Are you always this popular, love, or is this just spectacularly inconvenient timing?”

Hawke whined, gazing up at Anders with an imploring face that would put the dog to shame. Anders absentmindedly scratched at the corner of his jaw, right behind the horns. 

“We can probably ignore the De Launcets, and Varric can deal with the smugglers, and you know what I’m going to say about the Knight Commander.” Anders tapped his lips with the last letter, the despairingly resigned one from Seneschal Bran. “The seneschal implies you’ve been ignoring him.”

Hawke whined again. He had been, sort of, not _deliberately_ but other things had taken precedence. He sighed heavily, and Anders turned the letter around so Hawke could read it. He sighed again, breath making the paper flutter. This was, _yes fine_ , something that needed dealt with, and this time he probably couldn’t just dump it on Aveline. 

He flopped his head dramatically against Anders’s thigh and said “hwumpf.”

“I’ll get my staff then.”

***

Thirty-six hours and some change into dragoninity, and Hawke had finally figured out his legs. Basically. More or less.

“This is even more ridiculous than usual,” said Fenris, watching implacably as Hawke attempted to descend the stairs to Lowtown and, _technically_ , succeeded. 

“Don’t say that, you know I hate agreeing with you,” said Anders absently, following Hawke down the stairs at a reasonable walk rather than a flailing skid. “All right, love?”

Hawke shook himself off - dragons were durable! He was fine! - and whuffed at Anders. Absolutely not a honk in any way, he told himself. Dragon. Dragon! He was mighty and dignified and terrifying! And he was at least eighty percent in control of his limbs at any given time. Eighty percent, he felt, was respectable, given the circumstances.

“Nah, Broody, you kidding? This is gold,” said Varric, following behind them and scribbling shorthand as he walked. 

“ _You_ writing it down does nothing to contradict what I just said,” Fenris pointed out. “Even for Hawke, this is… weird.”

Hawke snorted at him, a gust of breath that smelled like hot copper. Fenris, he decided, was being demoted to second-favorite elf. _Merrill_ showed proper appreciation of his majesty (even if she showed it by cooing at him. Her chin-scratches were _unmatched_.)

“I’m sure we’ll figure out _something_ ,” said Anders in his ‘harried’ voice. “We usually do. Although I still think some people should have stayed at the house if they don’t know how to walk yet.”

Hawke snorted at Anders, too. Replacing Anders as ‘favorite human’ would be a wrench, true, but Isabela would probably rise to the occasion. Still, he expected greater loyalty out of his friends and much greater loyalty out of his boyfriend. 

“Our hero, bound by wicked magic in the form of a terrible beast! Only freed by true love’s kiss! Modern-day fairy tale retellings are a big market right now, you know.”

Aveline, at least, understood. 

The woman in question greeted them at the docks, outside one of the endless and identical warehouses. Like Anders, she looked harried and put-upon, but on the other hand, she usually looked harried and put-upon. Hawke would have been worried if she hadn’t. 

She eyed him critically, taking in his somewhat scuffed scales. “I’m surprised you brought him down here,” she said to Anders, rudely. Hawke honked at her in a way that meant ‘I am standing _right here_ , thank you.’ She continued to ignore him. 

“It wasn’t worth trying to stop him. Dragons are magically resistant and I don’t know if a sleep spell would have stuck long enough, and then he’d have been wandering around Kirkwall causing even more trouble than usual.”

Hawke’s honk was thoroughly indignant. 

“You know I’m right, love.”

“As long as he’s not a liability,” said Aveline doubtfully. “This is officially a smuggling racket, and unofficially a _lyrium_ racket that’s _not_ Carta, and there’s probably demons or blood mages or something involved, because there usually are, because this is Kirkwall.”

Anders, Fenris, and Varric all nodded. That sounded pretty typical, for a Tuesday. 

“So.” Aveline cracked her knuckles inside her gauntlets. “If you gentlemen are ready?” Without waiting for their acknowledgement, she kicked the door open and plowed her way inside, followed closely by Fenris. 

By the time Anders, last through the door, entered the warehouse with Hawke at his side, the sounds of swords meeting soft parts were already echoing off the walls. He took a stance to cast, but didn’t get the chance to pop off even one spell before two-hundred odd pounds of scales and muscle hip-checked him hard into the door. 

He was on four legs instead of two, and he couldn’t quite get a sense of how high up his head was, and his brain kept screaming about the weirdness of his _wings_ , but when it came down to it, Hawke was now an armored brick of spring-steel muscle. This didn’t need fine motor control. All he had to do was aim the pointy end at the bad guys, and the best part was that his new body was _all_ pointy end. 

Hawke dug his claws into the packed dirt of the floor, letting himself feel the sheer physical _power_ of this body. His wings flared out, instinctual. He felt his lungs expand like bellows as he drew in a massive breath, and then he roared.

It didn’t quite measure up to the howls of the full-grown dragons that would scream at them at the Bone Pit, but Hawke’s basso bellow still rattled dust from the rafters and stopped the smugglers cold. 

“Dragon!”

“Fuck-”

“What?”

“ _Dragon!”_

Aveline and Fenris didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the confusion, cutting wrong-footed smugglers down without mercy. Hawke didn’t hesitate either. His body seemed to more-or-less know what to do without input from his brain, just like the motions he’d normally fall into while casting back in the good old two-legged days. It wasn’t elegant, all snarls and claws and teeth, Hawke more falling on smugglers talons-first than actually attacking, jaws meeting through an arm, a throat, tossing bodies like dolls. 

It was still damned impressive. And bloody. 

“All right,” said Aveline, surveying the carnage. “Not bad. Not particularly _subtle_ , even for you, Hawke, but not bad.”

Hawke looked smug where he sat, tailed curled around his legs like a cat’s. He turned his serpentine neck to look at Anders. There, right across his snout, a streak of fresh blood stood out vivid red against the deeper color of his scales.

Anders put his hands over his face and laughed. 

***

Word got around, in the way word did, that the Guard had a _dragon_. Or maybe it was the Champion’s pet dragon, and he’d sic it on anyone who crossed him. Or it was actually a high dragon summoned by magic. Or Hawke had brought a dragon egg back from the Bone Pit. 

“Saw him walkin’ outta there with it with my own two eyes, size of his ‘ead if it were an inch!”

Anders stifled a groan. Yes, the miners at the Bone Pit were almost all Ferelden, even now, and yes, that meant they came to his clinic when something inevitably went wrong and _yes_ , that meant that they were in a prime position to fuel the rumors about Hawke’s Pet Dragon. That didn’t mean Anders had to _like_ it. 

Especially since Hawke had been conspicuously absent in the city for going on two weeks now, and they were fast running out of leads. Their theories had ranged from “what did you touch in the Black Emporium” to “blood magic” to “frankly this is what he deserves for asking that mad witch about it in the first place,” and each one had fallen flat. (Except maybe the last; Aveline seemed incredibly certain she had a solid point, there. Anders didn’t really want to ask.) Varric and Isabela had leaned on Xenon, Merrill had leaned on her clan, Anders had leaned on Orsino, and they both had risked life and limb to comb Fenris’s mansion for any weird Tevinter books that might even be remotely useful. All had turned up _nothing_ (although Anders had stolen an obscure alchemical text when Fenris wasn’t looking. Just in case.)

There was one last lead, an act of absolute last-resort desperation, and if this one didn’t pan out, Anders didn’t know where to turn next. 

***

“She says… that she’ll forgive me for running off and letting her think I died if I show her how to do it, too. Of course.” Anders sighed. “Well, we know which side of the family you get it from, at least. I’m sorry, love, I really thought Warden-Commander Amell might know _something_.”

He let the letter flutter from his hands and fell back on the bed. Hawke cooed at him from his position, settled in a cat-loaf pose across the whole foot of the bed, tail tucked around his front talons. He unspooled, the whole liquid-lanky length of him, and insinuated himself further up the coverlet. 

Hawke settled himself over Anders body just like he would when he was human-shaped, huffing out a hot-copper breath that disturbed the mage’s hair. His scales were like hot stones against Anders’s skin, glossy-smooth and deliciously warm, and his solid weight pressing Anders down into the mattress was as comforting as ever. 

Anders brought his hands up, rubbing at the delicate, thinner skin at the base of Hawke’s horns. Hawke butted his head up into the touch, like an enormous scaly cat. 

“I know you’re having fun, love, but I do miss you, the way you were.”

Hawke made his rumbly agreement-noise, and nuzzled his blunt snout behind Anders’s jaw, just like he always used to do. Anders smiled, tilting his head back to give Hawke the space. 

“Ah!” Hawke’s tongue was wet and slick and hotter than the rest of him, flicking out to taste the space just beneath Anders’s ear. Hawke inhaled like the dog after a scent, and flicked his tongue out again, gently tracing the shell of Anders’s ear. He hauled his body closer, and Anders was suddenly very aware of where Hawke’s weight rested between his spread knees, pressing down heavy and solid. 

Hawke apparently was too. He scented again, a sharp inhale, and very deliberately pressed his belly into Anders’s groin. 

Anders arched up beneath him, as much as he was able. “Mmm, like this? You sure?” he asked, his hand still cradling Hawke’s great, scaly head. 

Hawke _purred_ , pressing his face tightly into Anders’s throat before drawing back far enough to look him in the eye. Hawke’s eyes were bright, liquid gold like this, all iris and slit pupils blown wide in the dim light of the bedroom. Still Hawke, though, a gentleness in the set of his brow-ridge, maybe, or the tilt of his head, in the surprisingly soft, spiky scales that fringed his jaw. He regarded Anders very solemnly for several long moments, gold eyes locked on brown. 

Inclining his head with great dignity, Hawke licked Anders on the tip of the nose. 

Anders face cracked into a smile, reaching up to pull Hawke’s head down and tucking it under his chin in, he had to admit, a hug. “I love you,” he said through a laugh, “you improbable ass. Even if you are a bloody useless lizard right now. Up, up, I don’t trust you to take my pants off without ripping them at the best of times.”

Hawke snorted but complied, drawing his sinuous body away to lounge on his side. The light from the banked fire glowed on Hawke’s scales, burnishing the blood-red to warm gold. He looked so regal like this, sprawled like an enormous cat, wings tucked against his back in elegant folds, horns ringing his head like a crown. Dangerous. Predatory. 

“Gorgeous,” said Anders. Hawke’s golden eyes were locked on his body as his hands undid the laces to his trousers, that intent gaze sending a shudder of delicious warmth down Anders’s spine. 

Anders let his trousers slip to the floor and stepped out them, fully naked - sleeping with clothing on with the furnace Hawke had become was an exercise in self-flagellation, but now it was only a boon, less cloth to fuss with when he could be climbing back into bed instead.

Hawke was back over him as soon as he’d laid back down, his scales a delicious smoothness against Anders’s body, between his legs. His tongue was back on Anders’s neck, weirdly slick and hot like a brand. Anders made an inarticulate noise and let his head fall back, happy to let Hawke explore like this, learn him all over again. 

That tongue grazed lower, tracing Anders’s collarbone, following the muscle of his neck up, dipping back to do it again. The third pass, Hawke stopped at the junction of Ander’s neck and shoulder, drew his lips back, and nipped, gentle, less force than he’d use as a human, sharp teeth never breaking the skin. Anders moaned anyway, low and liquid through closed lips, the suddenly very immediate thought of those teeth - predator’s teeth - against his pulse shooting desire through his body. 

“Yes,” he gasped, hand coming to up grip Hawke by a horn, guiding his head. “Yes, oh, teeth.”

Hawke laved the nip with his tongue, acknowledging. And then he growled, closing his jaws around Anders’s neck entirely. Anders could feel the growl rumble up from Hawke’s throat and into Ander’s own chest, feel the prick of teeth, the barest hint of pressure. The knowledge that those jaws could close without even noticing the resistance posed by his flesh, that Hawke could, here and now, do damage that Anders couldn’t fix but he wouldn’t, Hawke wouldn’t - _oh_. 

Hawke’s jaws tightened, just a little, just enough for Anders to feel but not enough to break skin, not enough to draw the blood that neither could risk out of Anders. Anders arched his head back to feel the pull as his neck came free of Hawke’s teeth, each point drawing a line of delicious heat, just like the way Hawke’s nails would, sometimes, when the raked his shoulders, his thighs. 

Hawke’s belly was smooth and slick and unyielding where Anders ground up against it, halfway hard already from just Hawke’s tongue and teeth and heat. His hands stroked mindlessly at Hawke’s head, the crown of horns and the spines along his jaw. 

“Can you fuck me like this, do you think?” he breathed, lifting his hips again to press against Hawke’s belly, Hawke pressing back, inexorable and delicious pressure. “I want you, want you in me again. Whatever you’ve got, like this, filling me up. Anything you can give me.”

Hawke made a noise in his throat, a deep rasp that Anders felt vibrating through his chest again. He met Hawke’s eyes, slit pupils blown huge and round with desire and dim light. Hawke’s head went forward, unconsciously moving in for the kiss that Anders was ready to meet halfway, hesitated, moved sideways, muzzle sliding along the side of Anders’s face in a caress. 

Suddenly, overwhelmingly, Anders’s lips ached with wanting that aborted kiss. He delivered it anyway, right at the soft links of Hawke’s throat, where thin scales overlapped just behind his jaw, likely the only place he’d actually feel it. 

Hawke purred again, drew away and up, pushing up on his front legs and staying crouched on his back. Just for a moment, in the shadows between their bodies, Anders could see where his cock, flushed and hard now, brushed against the pale scales of Hawke’s belly. Then Hawke’s head came down to taste Anders’s skin, his neck an elegant arc of red. 

Hawke’s tongue flattened across Anders’s chest, dragging across his nipple. Anders groaned in appreciation, then gasped as Hawke took a whole mouthful of flesh in his teeth. Hawke’s tongue ground Ander’s nipple against the roof of his mouth, making Anders gasp again, push his chest up into that gentle, inexorable grip. 

Hawke released him, leaving a ring of reddened divots on Anders’s pectoral. He repeated it with the other nipple, the bite, the grind of tongue, leaving Anders to buck into the space between them, seeking sensation and getting only the whisper of smooth heat over the head of his cock, nowhere near enough. 

“Hawke, love, more, more, please,” Anders gasped, even as his hands held Hawke in place by the horns. 

Hawke snorted, and drew his head up and out of Anders grip with an ease that had Anders grinding up into nothing again. He looked Anders dead in the eye for one heartbeat, two, then drew away entirely. Anders made an involuntary noise of dismay at the loss of his heat, no matter how temporary, but Hawke was simply repositioning. Turning around, so he could lay along Anders’s side, back legs draped over the pillows above Anders’s head, foreleg holding Anders in place across the hips. 

His neck, serpentine and flexible, was a smooth arc as Hawke turned his head. Anders’s cock was framed by Hawke’s face, the golden eyes, the crown of horns. Pinned by Hawke’s foreleg, Anders could do nothing except tense his thighs in anticipation as Hawke’s mouth opened, revealing that hot pink tongue and sharp white teeth. 

Anders was hypnotized by Hawke’s gaze as he dragged his tongue up the underside of Anders’s cock, agonizingly slowly. He did it again, tongue lingering at the tip, pressing against the slit to taste. Anders’s moan was shaky, choked around words. “Yes, oh, Hawke, yes, yes yes-”

Anders bit off a scream of something between alarm and pleasure as Hawke’s mouth closed around his groin completely, not sucking, his jaws wouldn’t let him like this, but slick and wet and _hot_ , Anders could feel Hawke’s _teeth_ against his pubic bone, pressed under his balls, even more delicate than they’d been against his neck but there, _present_ -

“ _Hawke_ ,” Anders moaned, abstractly grateful for Hawke’s foreleg pinning his hips, keeping him from thrusting hard against those teeth. He didn’t need suction, not with how Hawke’s tongue worked his shaft, rippling along his length, curling on itself to flick at Anders’s frenulum, catch and drag at his foreskin, pressing the head against the softer tissue at the back of his throat. 

Anders hand slid blindly against Hawke’s belly, following the scales back between his legs. He honestly had no idea what he’d find there, they’d never explored like this before, hadn’t been a priority (why _why_ , clearly he needed to fix his prioritizing). 

His hand stopped just shy of the slit of Hawke’s vent. There was a swollen knot, a bulge under the smooth scales of Hawke’s belly, not obvious but definitely present. Anders pressed against it, firm and inexorable. 

The noise that came out of Hawke was a cross between a growl and a roar, and it buzzed up through his chest and straight into Anders’s cock. He felt his thighs lock as his orgasm snuck up on him, spilling in one, two, three spurts against Hawke’s tongue. 

Hawke released him and pulled back, breath harsh, and Anders felt the bulge give under his fingers and oh. _Oh_. 

There was Hawke’s cock, unsheathing in a smooth, slick slide. Wet pink, like the inside of his mouth, thick base tapering in a series of ridges to a narrow head with a slight, flat flare. 

“Oh, love, gorgeous,” Anders whispered, “let me taste you, oh please, Hawke, let me-”

Hawke’s hips shifted, rolling to spread his back legs and let Anders closer. Anders’s fingers closed around him. The skin was smooth and slick with natural lubrication, thin and delicate. The _smell_ of Hawke here, musk and smoke and something metallic, was almost overwhelming, heady. 

Anders guided Hawke’s cock to his mouth, closing his lips around the very tip as his fingers explored the ridges of the thick base. The taste was sharp, salt and metal, but not terribly unpleasant. Hawke grunted, low and rough, as Anders tongued the slit, hips jerking to slide just a little more length into Anders’s mouth.

Anders took it gladly, opening to it. Halfway down Hawke’s shaft and he felt the stretch in his jaw, the ridges sliding smoothly past his lips. He felt a gush of liquid against his fingers, Hawke’s body producing more slick to help, and he moaned around the cock in his mouth, hand gently squeezing. Hawke’s natural lubrication meant Anders’s stroke was a smooth, easy glide, fist meeting his lips and then back down, easy despite his tight grip. His other hand stole between his own legs, mimicking the motions with a lighter touch on his own hardness. 

Hawke’s leg kicked above Anders’s head, a low, broken grunt ripping out of his chest and his body began to buzz with a purr. Anders stroked a few more times, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. Maker, the slide was so _easy_ , that natural slickness, and Anders moaned at the thought of Hawke taking him, no grease and no preparation, mounting him and sliding home in one smooth, easy motion -

Anders pulled off Hawke’s cock with a gasp, dizzy with wanting. “Fuck me, Maker, please fuck me, I need you inside me, please, _please_ -”

The sound Hawke made was rough and low enough to buzz through Anders’s bones as Hawke pulled away, Ander’s fingers falling from his cock reluctantly. He scrambled onto his hands and knees to Hawke’s noise of approval, bracing against the bed. Hawke’s weight settled onto his back, forelegs locking around Anders’s chest even as he spread his thighs to accommodate Hawke’s bulk. He could feel his cock, a line of wet heat against the cleft of his ass, his lower back. Hawke pressed forward, once, made an interrogative noise. 

“Yes, love, yes, I’m sure, do it, do it, please,” Anders said, reaching back with one hand to hold himself open, to make it easier. 

Hawke’s hips jerked three times, four, before the tip of him caught Anders’s entrance. Anders’s body opened to him, the taper and the slick easing the way for the first half, and Anders’s own eagerness and a touch of healing magic as he thrust back against Hawke ensuring that he hilted on that first stroke. He drew back, thrust again, a short, sharp motion that had Anders’s breath stuttering as every ridge caught the rim of his hole, as the thick base of Hawke’s cock stretched him wide. 

Anders knew his back would hate him in the morning, the way Hawke’s hard thrusts bowed his spine and pressed him forward, but for now he choked on a moan and ground back into it, bracing with both hands and relishing the texture, the stretch and burn at the very base. He could feel his own orgasm building as Hawke’s cockhead raked his prostate with every stroke, the angle of it pressing hard against his inner walls and sending jolts of liquid heat straight to the base of Anders’s cock. Not yet, though, not yet, and Anders kept his hands stubbornly fisted against the sheets, rocking back into every thrust. 

Suddenly, Hawke surged forward hard, almost knocking Anders off balance, his forelegs locking tight and his teeth closing on the back of Anders’s neck. Hawke’s hips twitched minutely, never really pulling back, as he emptied himself into Anders, hot enough that Anders could feel every spurt, _Maker_ , and it just kept _going._ And that definitely _wasn’t_ his imagination, the way the fullness and pressure was increasing just inside his entrance, the ridges of Hawke’s cock smoothing as the base swelled into a knot, locking him in. 

Anders moaned open-mouthed and desperate, the pressure on his prostate overwhelmingly good, pressing back hard against Hawke’s weight as he finally, _finally_ , stole a hand to his own cock. It didn’t take much, just a few hard pulls and Anders was coming again, spilling over his own fingers, whimpering as the clench of his muscles milked another rush of seed from Hawke, made the base of his cock feel even thicker where they joined. 

Hawke was holding him up, legs still locked tight around Anders’s chest, and a good thing it was as Anders went boneless in the wake of his orgasm. Hawke’s hips were still jerking, abortive half-thrusts that wouldn’t have dislodged him even if he weren’t locked. Anders pressed a hand to his belly, where he half-fancied he could feel the burning heat of Hawke’s spend radiating through his skin. 

Eventually, Hawke stilled, letting go with his forelegs and allowing Anders to slump forward onto the bed. Hawke followed him down, still tied, resting on haunches and elbows to keep from crushing Anders. Anders slid his legs back, relaxing onto his belly. The muscles in his back and thighs were already twanging reminders of his bad decisions, but on the other hand Hawke was hot and still thick inside him, over him, surrounding him, and he felt deliciously wrung-out. It was hard to care about much else with Hawke’s tongue gentle on the marks his teeth had left on Anders neck, no blood even then. 

Anders reached up and pulled Hawke’s head forward to nuzzle. Hawke obediently went - Anders probably couldn’t have dragged Hawke anywhere even if he wasn’t a boneless pile of goo right now - and rubbed his face against Anders’s. 

“And to think we could have done that weeks ago,” Anders murmured, pressing his face back against the scales. He had no idea how long Hawke would stay locked in him, but it was good right now. Anders turned his head to plant a kiss on the scaly face, and another, anywhere he could reach. 

***

Hawke woke up immensely satisfied with himself. He’d managed to get _spectacularly_ laid, and it had apparently been just what he needed, because he was feeling better than he had in weeks. He yawned hugely, rolling his shoulders back in the stretch that would flare his wings and extend his tail. His muscles tensed, pulling, but there was no response from his body. No wings. No tail. 

Hawke sat up, hands flying to his face. _Hands_. Human palms scrubbed over bristly, unkempt beard, traced ears and hair, not horns. He looked down to see his very human chest and stomach, skin and coarse, dark hair and _nipples_ , which he hadn’t realized he’d miss until they were gone. 

Well. This called for celebration. Hawke turned to Anders, the mage still fast asleep on his belly. He rolled him over, which woke him up, but didn’t give him much of a chance to do anything before swooping in to kiss his mage thoroughly on the mouth. _Maker’s tits_ , but he’d missed kissing Anders. After two weeks of scales, his lips practically hummed with the sensation of skin on skin, of actually feeling Ander’s lips, rough and chapped, rather than just the pressure against his hide. 

Out of sheer muscle memory, Anders kissed him back for a few moments before his brain caught up with his body. He shoved Hawke away, looking up into blue eyes and a grinning, bearded face. 

“Hawke!”

“Yep!” 

“You’re back!”

“Yep!” Hawke couldn’t help diving back down for another kiss, which Anders only briefly allowed before pulling away again. 

_“How_?”

“Dunno,” said Hawke, gazing down at Anders. His mage was disheveled, hair everywhere, body speckled with distinctly non-human bitemarks. Gorgeous as ever. “Didn’t Varric say something about ‘true love’s kiss’ at one point?”

“True love’s- no. No. That is completely inane,” said Anders, hand coming up to frame Hawke’s face, run fingers through his hair. “I refuse to believe that is how this works.”

“Any better ideas?” Hawke brought one of his hands up to lace his fingers with Anders’s against his cheek. “That’s the only new thing we tried. Maybe not so much ‘kissing,’ but there was a lot of mouth involved.” Hawke waggled his eyebrows in the most ridiculous way he could manage. Fuck, he had _eyebrows_ again, his face did what he told it when it came to facial expressions. 

Anders shut him up by dragging him down into another kiss, this one much more protracted, lips and teeth and tongues and, Hawke couldn’t help but noticing, a lot of skin on skin. 

“What,” said Anders, pulling back for breath, “are you implying? That we _fucked_ you back into humanity?”

“Sure,” said Hawke. “Want to make sure it sticks?”

As it turned out, he did. 

**Author's Note:**

> For [this kinkmeme fill:](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15999.html?thread=61255039#t61255039)
> 
> Due to the standard shenanigans of the group (you know, the ones where they get involved with Qunari, viscounts, blood magic, Meredith, old dead Tevinter magisters, spirit-corruptions, and torn trousers), Hawke manages to actually gain the ability to turn into a dragon. A full-on flying, fire-breathing, Flemeth-style dragon.
> 
> Except that Hawke doesn’t get any bigger. Human-sized dragon is still a dragon, though, and all the more terrifying in combat because he can fit through doors.
> 
>  
> 
> Since y'all apparently enjoyed this one on Tumblr, I thought I'd make it official and put my name to my shame (which would work a lot better if I had any. Anyway!)
> 
> Please let me know as you uncover all the typos I've inevitably missed. Other comments are also appreciated!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [over here!](http://markasite.tumblr.com)


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